Duels 4
by Dukki-chan
Summary: Draco gets revenge on Harry...but will he take it to far? YAOI.


DUELS 4.

Severus Snape hated Harry Potter. That much was common knowledge to everyone in Harry's year and above. Just one look at the greasy Potions master's disgusted sneer as he glared down at the Boy Who Lived and you knew, the two were just not destined to be good friends.

"Potter!" snapped the hook-nosed professor. "_What_ do you think you're doing with those newt hearts?!" Snape swooped down upon Harry, snatching up the silver knife that Harry had been using.

Harry tried to contain his frustration. "I'm chopping them into fourths just like the book says, _sir._" He pointed to step 47 in the _Standard Book of Potion Making_.

The Potions master didn't even glance at the recipe. "I can see that, Potter. But my question is: _why?_" he said spitefully. "If you'd be so kind as to pay attention to _all _of the directions, you will see that step 45 clearly says '_add three carapaces of the Netwing fly. The potion will turn a pale blue color and emit golden sparks'." _He peered skeptically into Harry's cauldron, which held a mixture that was spongy and purple, and looked more likely to explode than emit any sort of spark. "Let me guess, Potter, you failed to add the carapaces." It was not a question.

Furious that Snape was picking on him while Neville Longbottom's potion was melting through his cauldron, Harry gave the slightest of nods.

Snape sniffed a laugh and tossed the silver knife back onto Harry's table. "5 points from Gryffindor. And an F for Mr. Potter, I think." With a wave of the Potion master's wand, Harry's potion disappeared.

From behind Harry came a mocking chuckle. Harry didn't have to turn to know that Draco Malfoy was getting his kicks out of his humiliation. Ever since their last meeting in the Room of Requirement, Malfoy had been more malicious than ever towards Harry. Maybe Harry deserved it (he _had_, after all, chained the Slytherin to a wall), maybe Malfoy was being immature. But what ever the reason, Harry didn't much appreciate it. He was in no mood to put up with Malfoy's antics.

As Harry moodily cleared away his Potions supplies, he glanced at Ron, whom was sitting with Hermione, and determinedly avoiding Harry's eye. Ron had not spoken to Harry since discovering him and Malfoy in the midst of a heated kiss in of one of the secret corridors. Hermione had tried talking some sense into Ron (she, thankfully, had been a tad more understanding) but Ron would not listen. In Ron's mind, Harry had committed a great personal attack against him and the rest of the Gryffindors. Harry didn't see how he would ever mend his friendship with Ron now.

"Class, listen here," Snape ordered of the noisy bunch. They all instantly grew silent. "Tomorrow we will be working on Sleeping Draughts. I will need you to collect the following ingredients…" Snape went on to list the various herbs and animal parts necessary to brew a Sleeping Draught, but Harry wasn't listening. He was wishing desperately for the lesson to be over so that he might convince Ron that Malfoy meant nothing to him, and,_ hopefully_, regain the redhead's friendship.

"Class dismissed," Snape finally announced. There was a great deal of noise as people threw their supplies back into their bags and began chattering about one thing or another. They all swarmed towards the door, knocking Harry back and keeping him from getting to Ron.

"Damn it…" Harry muttered angrily under his breath. Malfoy, hearing Harry's curse and sensing the Gryffindor's distress, took it upon himself to accidentally-on-purpose knock Harry aside as hard as he could, blaming it on a trip. The shoulder strap of Harry's bag caught on a corner of a table, causing it to rip. "Bastard…" Harry glared at Malfoy and knelt down to pick up his things.

The classroom was empty now. No one, not even Hermione, had offered to help him. Harry was suddenly struck with the desire to retreat to his dorm and fail to resurface until the end of the term.

"Harry? You need some help there, laddie?" It was Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He knelt down beside Harry, holding one of Harry's books. He grinned kindly at his Seeker.

"Thanks Wood," Harry said gratefully. He took the book and jammed it into his broken bag.

"So you all set for the match tomorrow? Ravenclaw's got a pretty good line-up this year." The older student was quite the fanatic, to put it lightly, and had been asking Harry about his readiness for the match all week. "You'll be sure to get plenty of sleep, right Harry?"

Harry stood, having collected all his things, and began inching towards the door. "Uhm…right, Wood, yeah. Bye then!"

"And make sure you're getting all your meals in!" shouted Wood at Harry's quickly retreating back.

Harry shook his head as he walked quickly away from the dungeons. What was Wood worried about, anyway? He'd never lost them a match. What could be different this time?

xXx*The Next Day*xXx

Draco chuckled to himself as he examined the little vial of Sleeping Draught. It was perfectly made; light pink in color just like the book said. Not a fault about it. It wasn't _his_ creation, of course. He had nicked a little from Granger's cauldron when she had gone up to speak to Snape. One drop of the stuff would have fuckin' Harry Potter out like a light for at _least_ an hour. That was all he needed.

All day, people talked of nothing but the second Quidditch match of the year. Every time someone mentioned that stupid Harry Potter, Gryffindor's pride player, Draco wanted to whip out his wand and curse the person senseless. Potter needed to pay dearly for embarrassing him so deeply in the Room of Requirement. The Sleeping Draught would do the trick. Well, _that_ and a little Polyjuice Potion he stole from Snape.

The time for the match came quickly, it seemed, and before Draco had time to back out, he was sneaking down to the pitch ahead of all the others, because he knew that Harry always arrived early.

When Draco arrived at the Gryffindor locker room, Harry was in the middle of changing into his Quidditch robes. His chest was bare and his legs would soon be that way as well. It was the perfect time for Draco to act. He had to do it now, or miss his chance.

"Hello Potter," he said smoothly, coming up behind Harry and wrapping his arms around the boy's slender waist.

Harry jumped slightly as Draco whispered in his ear. That was the _last_ thing he had been expecting. "Draco," he remarked. "What do you want?" His posture was stiff, uneasy.

Draco chuckled lowly and nibbled at Harry's ear. "Don't sound so unfriendly, Potter. I just came to make amends." _Right_ he thought _We'll be even soon enough_.

Something in Draco's voice struck Harry the wrong way. It was as if Draco was holding something back…a maniacal chuckle perhaps? "Make amends?" Harry repeated. He spun around in Draco's arms and brushed back the Slytherin's hair gently. "I thought you were furious with me?"

"I was," Draco admitted sweetly. "But I've been thinking…and I don't want to be mad any more."

Harry grinned. "Me either, Draco." He leaned in to kiss the blonde, only Draco held him back.

"You have to do something for me first," Draco said, smirking.

"What?"

"On your knees," Draco ordered.

Harry's smirked as well as he realized what Draco wanted. "Fine, but we'll have to go into the store cupboard or something. I don't want the team walking in on us."

Draco almost laughed; it was too easy! "That's OK with me."

The Gryffindor pulled Draco by the hand into the rarely used store cupboard at the back of the locker room. If this simple favor could get him back in Draco's favor, it was the least he could do. He needed at least one person he could go to for comfort, seeing as Ron was still being a stubborn git and refused to speak to him.

"On your knees, Potter," Draco said again.

Harry sank to the ground and soon had Draco's length fully in his mouth. He tried not to think that the _last_ time he had done this, Draco had been tied up against his will…

Now, I won't bore you with the details of the next several minutes (I'm pretty confident that you can assume how it went). But soon, Draco came hard into Harry's mouth, without giving Harry any sort of warning.

Harry gave a slight gag and pulled back. "Thanks for the heads up," he coughed. The Gryffindor wiped his mouth, ignoring the taste.

Draco chuckled and ran his hands roughly through Harry's hair. "Sorry," he said softly. "I have some water with me, if you'd like to wash your mouth out." He reached a hand into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a large vial…a vial containing a pale pink liquid.

In the dark of the closet, Harry had no idea that the vial Draco offered was not filled with water at all, rather a large amount of Sleeping Draught. And so, he took the glass, uncorked it, and downed the lot. For a moment, there was silence. "Draco? I thought you said that was water…" Harry got to his feet and put a hand to Draco's chest.

"Wasn't it?" Draco said innocently, trailing a finger down the small of Harry's back.

"No…it-it…" -he yawned loudly- "…it didn't taste like…" But the Gryffindor said nothing else, for he had yawned again only to fall heavily against Draco's chest, snoring slightly.

Draco sniggered. "Nighty-night, Potter." Draco lit his wand and eased Harry into a sitting position against the back wall of the closet. Once he was certain the boy wouldn't tip over, Draco removed Harry's glasses, yanked out a few of his hairs, and left the closet, locking it behind him.

"Too easy," Draco said gleefully as he held the hairs carefully in his palm. He dug through his robes yet again, this time to pull out a flask. The flask contained the Polyjuice Potion he had nicked from Snape; the potion that would allow his revenge to happen. Draco tipped the hairs into the mouth of the flask, and instantly, the potion turned a warm golden color. "Of course…" Draco sniffed. "He's always gotta be the fuckin' golden boy."

Drinking the potion was a rather strange experience. It went down like a mouthful of warm pumpkin juice, and landed in his stomach with a strange sort of _plop_. In an instant, he felt his skin begin to crawl. His bones ached painfully as they stretched him up by an inch or so, and he could see the tips of dark brown hair falling into his now green eyes, which quickly became blurry.

Draco tentatively put a hand to his new face, which felt fuller than his normal one did. He noticed, too, that his skin was darker now, rather than ghostly pale. So it had worked! He was Harry Potter!

"In Slytherin robes…damn it…what to do with these…" Draco--or rather 'Harry'--quickly shed his green and black robes and snatched up the Quidditch robes that the real Harry had been changing into. Draco dashed into another part of the locker room, away from the door, and stuffed his usual robes into one of the older lockers. He had only just finished changing when the rest of the team walked in.

"Hey guys," Draco said in a voice that was not his own.

Oliver Wood grinned at 'Harry' and clapped him on the shoulder. "You ready for the match, Harry?"

Draco smirked. "You have no idea."


End file.
